


And Then What?

by prouvairing



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M, Panties, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 06:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4512051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairing/pseuds/prouvairing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras turns around, and throws a look at him over his shoulder. He smiles. Blushes. He’s still stretched over the table, and his shirt is still bunched up, and Grantaire is still looking at the strip of white cotton, dotted with tiny pink flowers, the pretty lace hem.<br/>Back up. Rewind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Then What?

**Author's Note:**

> The origin story of this fic has a lot to do with its character. Namely: it's gross schmoopy giggly boyfriends having sex, with the aid of cute panties. It started with me texting Maria (of course):
> 
>  
> 
> _"I had a fic idea in the middle of dinner and it involves E/R and panties"_  
>  _"Every time this happens I think a version of “jesus forgive me”"_  
>  _"“Serena why are you spacing out” “…… HAS ANYONE TRIED THE MOUSSAKA I THOUGHT IT WAS EXCELLENT”"_
> 
>  
> 
> And it only went downhill from there. I'm sorry. I took this endeavour about 0% seriously and if it shows, that's why. It was a lot of fun to play around with it, though, and sort of a breather after Ten Years (and before I go back to tackling longer projects, so you might not see me for a while)
> 
> Special thanks to my bro and hero, [dragongrantaire](http://dragongrantaire.tumblr.com) who offered underwear counselling.
> 
> Regarding Enjolras' demisexuality, I'm still doing my research and learning, so if I got anything wrong with it, please let me know. I know it varies wildly between people (I have some experience with spectrum identities bc I'm grey-aro but obviously it's not the same thing) (we're gonna have the grey-aro Enjolras talk another time, trust me WE WILL I'm passionate about it) and I tried to do what I thought would be best with the way I usually characterise him, but I could also be wildly off the mark. Let's say I'm working on keeping Enjolras on the ace/aro spectrums no matter whether I'm writing plot or gen or smut, but it's a process!
> 
> Thank you all for your patience, I hope at least you have a laugh.

It’s a perfectly normal day, until Grantaire sees Them.

The capitalisation is due, he thinks. A lot of things deserve capitalisation these days, in his very humble opinion. Like, he and Enjolras are Dating, and only four months ago Kissed for the first time. It happened just outside the Musain – which is, incidentally, where they are now – and Enjolras’ eyes had sparkled in such a lovely way, Grantaire hadn’t even wanted to paint them. He knew such a thing was ephemeral for a reason. He was just determined to make it happen again. And again.

Speaking of which. They had both agreed to Take It Slow, which also deserved capitalisation on account of how solemnly they had decided on it. It had taken them so long to be in a healthy enough place to consider this – or at least, consider it while knowing that it wouldn’t wreck them both.

Grantaire is doing pretty well, he thinks. He’s a year sober, and he finally got off waiting lists for therapists. His current one is pretty decent. At least, she’s not treating bisexuality as a symptom of his fucked-up-ness. Enjolras has an internship, but he’s not letting it consume him, and still volunteers here and there.

Out of uni for a few years, the social justice gang – les Amis, for short – doesn’t meet weekly on campus anymore, but instead does so at a fair trade, vegan place just a little farther in the neighbourhood. The aforementioned Cafè Musain. Combeferre is happy about not having to navigate the Students’ Union to book a room every Monday. Courfeyrac is happy not to have to deal with shitheads, now that they’re not an SU-affiliated society.

Back on track: he and Enjolras are Dating, and in virtue of the fact that they’re Taking It Slow, they only Did It for the first time a little over a month ago.

That one definitely deserves to be capitalised. Hell, Grantaire would shout it from rooftops, and wax poetic about the tiny breathless sounds Enjolras makes when he comes, except he knows Enjolras is definitely private about this sort of thing.

It had taken a while, which Grantaire was more than happy with. They’ve got their issues, Grantaire with his difficulty accepting that this is actually happening, and Enjolras dealing with sexual attraction that comes rarely. Grantaire can’t pretend he understands being demisexual on a practical level, although he knows the theory, and he would rather cut off his own arm than pressure Enjolras into anything.

But yes, it’s happened.

And now they’re in the Musain, again, for an informal couple of pints-or-green-tea, after they’ve talked shop. Enjolras is sitting right by Grantaire, knee against his knee, with Combeferre on his other side. Feuilly, at the opposite end of the table, says something about a PalSoc event ze got invited to on Facebook, and turns hir laptop towards Enjolras to see.

Enjolras leans across the table towards hir. And his jeans slide down expose his smooth lower back, and a strip of underwear.

Grantaire freezes.

He chokes on his green tea.

“You okay, love?” Jehan asks from his other side, their eyes never lifting from their notebook. They went to a reading yesterday night, and it always gets them inspired.

“Just fine,” Grantaire squeaks.

Enjolras turns around, and throws a look at him over his shoulder. He smiles. Blushes. He’s still stretched over the table, and his shirt is still bunched up, and Grantaire is still looking at the strip of white cotton, dotted with tiny pink flowers, the pretty lace hem.

Back up. Rewind.

*

So Grantaire sometimes wears panties. He’d started because Joly had suggested it – in his words, “Wearing pretty panties brightens your day, this is science.”

Joly also maintained that a matching bra worked even better – accompanying it with a shrug, because Joly didn’t wear bras anymore, not since his top surgery. Still, he said, pretty camisoles worked just as well. He usually got his kicks going lingerie-shopping with Musichetta and Bossuet.

So, in short, Grantaire knew way too much about the underwear and the sex lives of his friends. He wasn’t sure it was quite healthy, but it worked.

He didn’t wear panties _every_ day, but it had become normal enough that he didn’t really think about it. Which was why he hadn’t thought twice about donning a pair on one average day, made decidedly un-average by the fact that he and Enjolras had a date.

It wasn’t the first time they had sex, not even the first time they had _penetrative_ sex, but Grantaire still liked to take his time. He could spend hours doing nothing but kissing Enjolras’ slack, panting mouth, and mapping the curves and angles of his body with his fingers.

He was on a quest to find new places that made Enjolras shudder and say, “Yes. _There._ Again.”

He was halfway on his way to Enjolras’ hipbone, when he’d felt him tug at his hair. He liked to do that – run his fingers through it, pull gently, wind springy curls around one finger – almost as much as he liked having his own hair pulled. Which had been a very satisfying discovery, on Grantaire’s part.

“Gran _taire_ ,” Enjolras insisted. Somehow, his usual stern tone was just as effective when he was blushing all the way down his chest.

“Yeah?”

“Not that this isn’t nice, but you’re still _dressed_.”

Somehow he could convey the vast amount of his distaste for the situation just in the inflection of one word. Grantaire was almost surprised when his clothes didn’t disappear just to appease him.

He didn’t dwell. As Enjolras requested.

He grinned up at him, and rose on his knees to grab the back of his shirt and pull it off. He didn’t miss the way Enjolras’ eyes followed the movement.

Enjolras sat up, brushing gentle hands at Grantaire’s waist, along the hem of his jeans. He looked up at Grantaire through his lashes.

Grantaire bent down to kiss him, because doing anything else was unthinkable. He nipped at Enjolras’ bottom lip – felt his fingers through his hair again – and reached for his own flies.

He had his jeans halfway down his thighs, when Enjolras broke the kiss, looked down, and let out a choked sound.

“What?” Grantaire muttered, listing forward, still reeling from the kiss.

Enjolras didn’t reply. He was steadily looking at Grantaire’s crotch, and growing redder.

Now, if Enjolras hadn’t had his dick in his mouth just last week, Grantaire would have taken it as either offense or praise. But seen as Enjolras _was,_ in fact, _very_ familiar with his dick, it took Grantaire a minute to catch up.

Honestly, it wasn’t even his raciest pair of panties. They were simple white cotton, pink flowers and pink lace, and they covered everything that should supposedly be covered. Or, well, they did, when Grantaire wasn’t stupidly hard from making out with his boyfriend.

“Oh, God,” said boyfriend gasped. He reached out a hand, then quickly pulled it back. “They have a _bow._ ”

So, Enjolras was affected, it seemed. Grantaire was, by now, familiar with that particular hungry look, that half-embarrassed, half-desperate blush. He grinned.

Enjolras had pulled back to lean on his elbow, sprawled across the sheets in his boxers, legs spread. His lips were still red, kiss-stung, his hair a fine mess.

Grantaire kicked off his jeans, then crawled towards Enjolras on his hands and knees, enjoying the way his blue eyes got wider.

“Do you want to touch them?” he asked, very slowly. Enjolras bit his lip. Grantaire grabbed his hand, the one Enjolras had snatched back, and watched closely for any sign of hesitation. Just as slowly, he brought Enjolras hand to his hip. He said, “Because you’re allowed to touch.”

Enjolras groaned, then squeezed his eyes shut. His thumb brushed against the lace hem, then dipped underneath.

“Grantaire,” he whined. His hand wandered back, on Grantaire’s cotton-clad ass.

Enjolras looked down, then back up at Grantaire’s encouraging smile. Then he groaned again, and flung his free arm over his eyes.

Grantaire laughed, and peeled the arm back, leaning down to kiss Enjolras’ eyelids in turn. It didn’t go amiss that Enjolras’ other hand remained firmly anchored to his ass.

“It’s okay,” he said, and kissed Enjolras’ pouting mouth.

“They’re so cute,” Enjolras said, against his lips. Then, suddenly, he used his grip on Grantaire to haul him closer. “You’re so cute. I need you to fuck me.”

The one-eighty shift in tone, the way his voice _dropped_ , might have thrown Grantaire off. Except, he was really not the type to ignore a direct request.

“Keep them on,” Enjolras said.

It was Grantaire’s pleasure to do just that.

*

In the Musain, Jehan regards him suspiciously.

“Are you sure you’re okay, love?” they ask. “You look red.”

Grantaire chuckles nervously. Enjolras drops back in his seat beside him, and sips his coffee innocently.

“Oh, you know me,” Grantaire babbles. “When do I ever make sense? I just – kind of – I remembered I might have left the stove on. Yeah. So, I kinda need to – you know I won’t be able to relax, I’ll just keep thinking about it. So. I really need to go.”

He turns to Enjolras, who’s already staring back at him. He says, “Enjolras, can you give me a ride?”

Enjolras stays silent for a beat too long, just letting Grantaire’s words sink in. Curse him, and the day he learned to recognise innuendos. Curse Grantaire for being so addicted to them that he’d dragged his boyfriend’s mind in the gutter with his.

“Sure thing,” Enjolras says, and gives him a small smile.

 

On the sidewalk, Grantaire grabs his hand and holds it tightly, as they make their way to the underground.

“I can’t believe you,” he hisses. Then whines, “You’re evil.”

Enjolras’ eyes are sparkling, and his lips are pressed together, like they are when he’s trying not to look smug. It doesn’t work.

In the carriage, pressed against each other, Enjolras whispers under the deafening sound of the train.

“I didn’t mean for you to see, yet,” he says. He’s still trying not to smile, but a dimple on his cheek betrays him. “Honestly, that was an accident. I wanted it to be a surprise for when we got home. You left them at mine, and they ended up in the wash, and when I saw them…”

Grantaire needs to take a deep breath. He definitely doesn’t need to remember the absolute mess they’d made of those panties, or the way Enjolras had been flushed and panting, eyes shining.

It definitely must show on his face, because Enjolras laughs. “I just thought it would be a good idea.”

The near end of the carriage is populated only by a business man absorbed by his tablet, a young girl wearing a pair of oversized headphones, and an old lady, sleeping despite the rocking and clanging of the train.

“Evil,” Grantaire repeats. Enjolras, finally, grins. He throws a look to the other passengers, who are paying them no mind. He keeps smiling innocently, as he reaches back for Grantaire’s hand, already wrapped around his waist, and drags it back, and _down_ –

Grantaire’s fingers touch the lace hem, and it’s like electricity. He can’t help but slip his hand inside his jeans. Enjolras only hums approvingly, so who can blame him?

He holds his breath, palming the gentle curve of Enjolras’ ass, feeling the soft, skin-warm cotton.

He is still very much put-upon, because this is _so unfair_ , so he gives Enjolras a sudden squeeze, making him jump. And laugh, louder than he intended.

The businessman looks up, and the old lady is shaken awake.

It makes her realise she has missed her stop, apparently, so Grantaire counts it as a public service.

*

They spill into Enjolras’ hallway giggling, barely remembering to shut the door behind themselves.

“You’re a public menace,” Grantaire declares, reeling him in by his long scarf. Something painfully ugly and wonderful, knitted by Jehan.

Enjolras has been unbearable the entire way back – not even coy, or flirty, just downright _excited_ and pleased with himself. It’s such a good look on him, that it serves its purpose anyway.

Enjolras unwinds his own scarf, without letting himself be kissed. Grantaire is left with balled up mustard-yellow yarn, while Enjolras turns to run to the bedroom. He sheds clothes as he goes.

Grantaire finds his shirt by the door, his jeans at the foot of the bed. Enjolras, spread out on the bed, in nothing but the pink and white panties.

He stops. Breathes in. _Goddamn._

Enjolras smiles. “Come here,” he says.

Once again, Grantaire is helpless, and all but launches himself at the bed. Enjolras ends up bouncing on the mattress just slightly, and he _giggles._

Grantaire has absolutely zero defences, when it comes to Enjolras giggling. Or Enjolras wrapping his long legs around Grantaire’s hips, and pulling him in to kiss.

Or, you know, _Enjolras_.

They kiss, pressed together, Grantaire rocking into him just slightly, until Enjolras whines and starts pushing at his clothes.

They take care of Grantaire’s shirt first. The only problem is when Grantaire moves away to pull it off, and chances a look down at Enjolras – debauched, hair a golden halo on the pillow, and the damn panties stretched out over his cock. Somehow the pink seems to match Enjolras’ blush.

Grantaire is outraged with himself. He should have thought of this _ages_ ago.

He has to take a moment, groaning and leaning back down to rest his forehead against Enjolras’ chest.

“ _God_ ,” he breathes. “You’re really cute.”

“I know,” Enjolras says. His hands come up to card through Grantaire’s curls. “Do you see my problem now?”

Grantaire nods, against Enjolras’ skin, which leaves him in a prime position to kiss it. And to start making his way down. The temptation to nuzzle against the panties is too strong, and Grantaire has never called himself a saint.

Enjolras makes a sharp, delicious sound, when Grantaire starts mouthing at his cock through the cotton, and his fingers tighten in Grantaire’s hair.

“Wait,” he says, half-gasp and half-laughter. Grantaire pulls away, guided by Enjolras hands.

Enjolras’ smug, pleased smile is still in place. It makes Grantaire want to crawl back up to kiss him, so he does.

“ _Wait,_ ” Enjolras breathes, again, though only after having taken his time sucking at Grantaire’s bottom lip. “Thought you wanted me to ride you.”

Grantaire has to break away, and hide his face in Enjolras’ shoulder. He bursts out laughing.

Enjolras smacks his ass lightly, and snaps, “Why are you _laughing_?”

“You’re the _worst_ ,” Grantaire replies. He’s quite sure there are tears at the corners of his eyes. “I love you.”

He barely has the time to worry about blurting it out in the middle of sex, because Enjolras _beams_.

He takes Grantaire’s face in his hands, squishing his cheeks slightly, and kisses his nose.

“I am the _best_ ,” he says, then shrugs. “Made you love me.”

Grantaire only stares at him for a moment – his wild hair, self-satisfied smile, the glint in his eyes. Then he tightens his hold and flips them around, so Enjolras is on top.

This earns him a pleasant shriek, which only ends in more laughter.

Enjolras, now on top of him, sits up to straddle his thighs, and Grantaire follows suit. It takes some awkward shuffling, because he didn’t manage to be _quite_ as smooth as he wanted, but they end up with Grantaire sat against the headboard, Enjolras comfortably in his lap.

“Right,” Grantaire says. “All yours.”

Enjolras smiles, and bends down to kiss him again, little more than lips sliding against his, soft, wet and warm.

Some more logistic time is lost to ridding Grantaire of his bottoms, before Enjolras is back, grinding against him and making him gasp.

Grantaire bites a kiss into his neck, then blindly reaches towards his nightstand for the lube. He’s stopped by Enjolras’ hand, which snatches his arm back to wrap around his waist.

“No,” Enjolras says, gasping. He rocks against Grantaire again, making him groan. “Like this.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Grantaire says, then kisses him again, feeling Enjolras grin.

Enjolras’ hips are relentless, his fingers digging in Grantaire’s shoulders for leverage. He’s learned, in the past few months, that Enjolras is especially passionate about his shoulders. And his arms. He’s had his fair share of fingertip-shaped bruises to prove it.

“How many – _oh_ – others?” Enjolras pants, without letting up. “How many others do you have?”

Grantaire – busy sucking a bruise in his shoulder – takes a while to catch up.

When he does, he growls, _“So many._ ”

It makes Enjolras whine. That, or it might be Grantaire taking handfuls of his ass to pull him closer, grind harder against him.

“ _Oh_ ,” Enjolras gasps, again. “I want – I want to see them.”

“You’ll see all of them,” Grantaire says, leaving kisses along his shoulder, his neck, his collarbone. Making him huff a laugh between the moans, when he flicks his tongue against a spot he _knows_ is ticklish.  “Hell, Enjolras, you can _have_ them all. No. We’ll _buy_ you some. Something red. Something black...”

Enjolras’ laughter is getting higher the closer he gets to coming. One of Grantaire’s hands leaves his ass to come up and tangle in his hair. He pulls, making Enjolras shudder, his hips jerk.

He doesn’t take long to come after that, warm and wet between them, with a last, high, breathless sound.

Grantaire doesn’t stop, holding him closer. Enjolras, warm and languid in his afterglow, drops soft kisses on his face and reaches for his cock to help him along, meeting his erratic thrusts until Grantaire spills hot on his hand.

There is the small problem of the mess they’ve both made – the panties will have to go right back in the laundry – but for a moment Grantaire simply lets himself slump against the headboard.

Enjolras hums approvingly, and nuzzles briefly at his neck, tracing patterns into his stomach. It doesn’t escape Grantaire that he’s doing so with his soiled hand, but they’re way past caring now, it seems.

Enjolras raises his head, hair a mess, cheeks still red and breath still laboured.

He whispers, “Hey.”

Grantaire, of course, smiles back. “Hi.”

“So,” Enjolras says. “I love you too.”

Grantaire feels heat crawl up his neck and yeah. That’s a thing that happened. His breath hitches, when he’s done processing his own embarrassment enough to process what Enjolras _said_.

“Yeah?” he says. He could smack himself.

Enjolras, miraculously still smiling, and brushes his lips against Grantaire’s.

“Yeah,” he replies.

Grantaire’s face must do _something_ because Enjolras laughs, and proceeds to kiss him, and kiss him so well that Grantaire’s toes might just curl. A little bit.

“I love you,” Enjolras says.

“You _menace_ ,” is all Grantaire can reply. Enjolras smiles, and kisses him again, and at some point brings his hands up to cup Grantaire’s cheek. Which is when they remember he does still have come on his hand.

“Oh, _gross_ ,” Grantaire says, wiping his cheek.

Not that he hasn’t had come in more unlikely place before. But it’s the principle of it. Enjolras is once again doing that thing where he’s pursing his lips in an attempt not to laugh.

“Right,” Grantaire says. “Off to the shower with you.”

Grantaire doesn’t watch him walk away, before scrambling off the bed to join. Not much, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr @ [seagreeneyes](http://seagreeneyes.tumblr.com)
> 
> P.S. If you think the title's silly, please know its Word doc title was "mum called she said i need to go home right now"


End file.
